


The Bulletproof Angel

by FallonSong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, season five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallonSong/pseuds/FallonSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sam sacrifices himself to end the apocalypse and Dean moves in with Lisa, Castiel grieves in his own ways. A tie in to my other fic 'Gravity' and an alternate ending to season five. Destiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bulletproof Angel

The angels come to visit us,  
And we only know them  
When they are gone.

-George Eliot

 

I watch him through the window, as he sits down to eat his dinner with the woman, Lisa, and her child, Ben. The window cannot be more than a few millimeters thick, but to me, it is a barrier. One that I will never pass through. Dean put this wall between us, unintentionally, but it is there. So I slip away, an ache within me that I rarely experience. It burns like a heated knife, twisting its way into me where it rests, a reminder that I have failed.

But had I? I had joined the Winchesters to stop the looming apocalypse, but now it was over, and here I was, standing in Dean's backyard like I expected him to come outside and comfort me. I didn't deserve that.

As I look back, I see Lisa smiling at him, placing her hand over his where it belonged. The sight awakes a savage frustration I claim no pride to, and I begin to feel suffocated. As I spread my wings, I notice her garden. Perfect, uniform. Everything she is and Dean isn't. I am not a bringer of life, as she apparently is. I have nothing very magical about me. I am destined to continue along my path until I ultimately crash headfirst, and then I will be done.

But for a few weeks, I had started to believe maybe Dean and I could crash together. The times we spent together, as more than mere companions had convinced me of that. And I was wrong.

With a downbeat of my wings, I upheave the flowers, scattering soil onto the dew covered grass. There is a sting of guilt, and then I am gone.

 

"Metatron," I say. He rests on his golden throne, slung sideways, as if the throne is too casual for him to sit properly. He radiates an overwhelming power; enough that I want to sink into the crystal floor and slink back to earth. He is keeping the other angels in place, letting them know he is in a serious mood. This is a rare thing, a dangerous thing. Metatron is my friend a majority of the time. When he is like this, he terrifies me.

 

He does not acknowledge me. Though he stares at a point past me, he does not flit his eyes sideways, does not take me in. The other angels around him watch warily, as if we are going to fight. They know nothing, though.

"Metatron, please. I need your help."

 

His wide, vast eyes now turn to me, and I regret the action. They are an ocean, flickering with shadows of life and death, wide and framed by flecks of gold, like sunbeam burning on the water. His hair is long and white, spiraling to the floor around him. It reflects the golden room. The other angels disperse, the fear in their eyes depriving them of the honor they normally would have held.

 

Once gone, Metatron rights himself to sit properly and regards me.

"Castiel," his voice is distant and troubled, but it does not carry any of the hostility that I expected.

His tanned, weathered hands gesture me forward, though I am now reluctant to go. What could I have been thinking? To come to my mentor, to plead such things of him?

"What answers do you seek?"

I pause, but I know I must persist on. I must do this.

 

"There is a soul, trapped in Hell. And Michael as well, as you are well aware of. I propose we save them."

 

Metatron closes his eyes thoughtfully, for which I am grateful. His eyes, after all our years of existence, have unnerved me. As the archangel of Thursday, I was entirely under his command though, and I had received the blue eyes that mark us.

I sometimes feared mine were as intimidating, but maybe not so. Dean never mentioned it, or Sam.

"Who will lead the mission?" he asks gruffly.

"Let me!" I respond immediately, and then curse my enthusiasm. It is unprofessional, the fledgling of words, at the most.

He notices, and he frowns. I hope I can cover the mistake, but I understand it is too late.

"No. I believe Raphael will go in your place. You have an emotional attachment to Sam, and it may hinder the mission."

He lets out a weary sigh, his eyes shifting darkly as storms rolls over them.

"I would never dream of having to replace so many archangels. Castiel, what has happened to Heaven?"

His voice sounds vulnerable, almost mortal, so I want to say something reassuring. I want to say that we still have the foundation and that we can keep building, but I say the only thing I have the right to.

"I'm sorry."

I am excluded from the planning. Metatron is the head angel now, and I am his loyal apprentice, so I obey dutifully.

 

The only reason I have even been accepted back in is because of him. I have killed so many of our own, and they know why. The council ruled when I first returned to let me stay in Heaven and allowed me to say goodbye to Dean for good. I couldn't do it the night I stood outside Lisa's house, watching them eat together. I wasn't ready yet.

 

Before he sweeps into the council room to go over strategies, Metatron stops beside me. He keeps his eyes fixed ahead, as if he were afraid to look at me. But that is crazy, because he has not met fear, and it does its best to avoid him.

"I will save Sam Winchester as well. But Castiel, you must say goodbye to Dean."

He breaks off, genuinely upset.

"I do not approve of such a cruel punishment, but the council has decided. Now go, so the joy of being reunited with his brother will soothe the wounds you are going to leave."

Frowning deeply, he moves into the room, the gilded doors slamming behind him. I take the hint to leave.

 

The next task I face is going to be impossibly hard, but vital. Metatron has made it clear. I must say goodbye to Dean, to cut the ties we have and return to Heaven where I seemingly belong. Yet, as I sweep among the streets, the way the angels greet me is cold and curt. They do not hold the thing I call friendship in their eyes. They couldn't even begin to understand love. There is nothing there.

 

I thought I knew the warmth of Heaven, but I felt very cold now that I no longer stood under the sun.

 

When I touch down in Dean's back yard, a feeling of grief overwhelms me. I had never known these feelings before. Initiative, anger, life, friendship, and as I faced the door, back stiff and head held high, I felt loss and jealousy churning deep in my stomach and threatening to gnaw through me, leaving me with nothing.

 

The rage and turmoil have been escalating as of late. I feel so confused and upset. I feel as if I am walking in circles, constantly chasing a trail that doesn't exist.

 

"It's us," I say aloud. I know little of romance, only what Dean has shown me, but I know of tragedy, and that sometimes the two intertwine for the worse. And that was how me and Dean crossed, leaving me on the invisible path to nowhere.

 

I should be angry, and he should be angry. But since I saw him after Sam's demise, I know that, as always, we were on the same page, the same sentence. Right together, where we belonged before someone changed the script. Crossed out our lines and put us at opposite ends. Like we had never known each other.

 

I feel weak as I advance to knock on the door. A part of me becomes angry with my cowardice. Why shouldn't I burst in there to speak to Dean? I shouldn't have to go through formalities. Lisa may care for Dean, but I care more. Much more.

 

Lisa is a woman who takes her time. I stand there for over a minute and a half after several knocks before she answers, her hair snarled and her eyes red.

 

"Lisa," I say with as much politeness I can muster above all my ill feelings toward her. I know, it is not her fault Dean cares for her, but only I should have that connection to him. Never her.

"Who are you?" she demands, eyes now guarded instead of wary.

"A very good friend of Dean's. May I speak to him?"

She sniffs, expression changing to something that correlates with the way my insides feel.

"He left. I don't know where. I don't think he's coming back."

I learn another thing about Lisa; she is strong. Her posture is defiant, shoulders pushed back to take the next challenged instead of curved forward to protect herself from the future.

Feeling as if I need to be reassuring, I recall some of the words Dean has said to me that sound particularly polite and friendly.

"Have a nice night."

She tips her head, confused, but nods.

"You, too."

She does not slam the door.

A third thing about Lisa. She is generous. To let Dean into her home, and to not forbid me entirely from it in a single gesture.

I am glad I did not simply appear in the house, not just because Dean is elsewhere, but because of a bit of respect for Lisa had formed within my heart, and it would have been rude, to say the least.

 

I fly for several hours, trying to estimate how long Dean has been with Lisa up until now. Heaven had a skewed sense of time, running in slow motion almost, exactly opposite of Hell. A few moments can equate to a year at times, and that alarms me. I usually have a handle on the time frame, but my mind has been so muddled as of late that I become worried.

There is something I hear echoing in my wind that brings me to a halt in a beech tree. I disturb a few birds as I land on a slender branch.

 

The thing I hear is a prayer, echoing in my mind and vibrating in my bones, gently unraveling the knot in my stomach.

 

Dean is praying to me.

'Uh, hey, Cas. If you aren't too busy. I know you must have a lot going on up there…'

The voice fills the spaces in my mind, conveying a vulnerability I have rarely heard or seen in him.

'I just wanted to talk. I feel kind of alone. But I'm not at Lisa's anymore, so don't go there. I'm at Kingsbury Hotel in Virginia so-'

I am gone in the blink of an eye, leaving the leaves rustling wistfully after my wings.

 

Dean's voice still echoes somewhere behind me, but it will be better to talk to him face to face. He is sitting on the bed, holding a photo in his hands. His head is bowed, his eyes closed. His lips are still moving with the ghost of his prayers, and they are so remarkable. Forming MY name. I want something I have never wanted from anyone else in my existence; I want a kiss from him. We used to share them before things became particularly rough.

Chasing away the thoughts that will never grow beyond just that, I clear my throat as a substitute for 'I'm here'.

He whips around, briefly startled, before he relaxes and smiles.

"Cas. I'm glad you're listening."

"Of course I am. I always am."

Now why did I say that? I can't promise him these things before I say goodbye. I don't want to be too close to him when this occurs, so I step away, closer to the door. I could fly out of the room, but I want to open the door and close it behind me, to make sure Dean understands this is our goodbye.

"Cas…I messed up," he says, oblivious to my inner turmoil. He is drowning in his own.

"You left Lisa and Ben."

"I betrayed Sammy, didn't I?" Dean asks me, closing his eyes, hiding the tears from me.

 

I am pained that he isn't willing to share those emotions with me, but I must remind myself again that our road ends here. The circle is finally breaking.

 

"Dean. I have to go."

He nods, but I know he wishes me to stay, so that someone, anyone, can listen to him. He draws himself up and hands me the picture, which I slip into the pocket of my coat. I can look at it later.

"When will you come back?"

He asks this as he retreats to the kitchen to get out two beers, believing maybe we can drink together. Doesn't he understand? This is it. The end.

"I can't. Not ever."

He turns, confused, and sets the beers on the table and faces me.

"What do you mean 'not ever'? Where are you going? Are you in trouble?"

His questions hold a concerned tone in a way that makes it hurt worse. But I am a soldier, an angel of the Lord. I have to be stronger than this. I must be completely covered in my armor at all times. I must be invincible. Being with Dean in this moment, it is a nearly impossible feat.

"Metatron, my mentor. He says the council has ruled it. If the angel of connections rules out our meetings, then it is so."

"The council? I thought the angels were the ones in charge? And you're going to let this guy boss you around?"

I suppress a sigh, not daring to let his words get to me. I have made many sacrifices for Dean, but I can't make this one. It isn't just me at stake. It is also about Sam. But Dean doesn't know that.

"I came to say goodbye, Dean. For good this time, and I'm sorry."

Dean's face becomes vulnerable, then angry. He stands up, eyes narrowed and fists clenched.

"Fine. Go."

He looks away, eyes narrowed into slits. This is not how I wanted this to end, but there was no other option, really.

I open the door, which sets so many possibilities of what we could have had spinning through my mind.

"Dean. We could have had something, couldn't we?"

His head snaps up with shock, his mouth hangs open a little. I don't want him to say anything; I'm not even sure where those words came from.

 

Either way, I don't want to hear his response. He can reject me or admit the same emotions I'm feeling. I leave with this weight on me no matter what.

 

I rush out before he can answer, slamming the door behind me. I can almost hear the threads being cut in its wake. Not that something so flimsy bounded Dean Winchester and I together. It was more like chains, because, whether we liked it or not, there would always be something sinister and unnatural that kept our souls close.

I turn to go towards the beach, to speak to an old friend while I waited for Sam to be set free. He would talk to me; distract me from the sick churning in my stomach.

In midflight, I slow my speeds to look at the picture Dean handed me, and abruptly, I must land so that the emotions do not send me crashing downward.

 

In the picture are Dean and I, his arms are slung over my shoulders and I'm leaning towards him, enjoying the warmth he radiates and the happiness that seemed to sweeten the air about us. Dean likes to drown himself in misery, but when he was happy, it was momentous. It lasted a long while and his euphoria carried him through great ordeals.

I remember the picture as us celebrating our first Christmas together. Dean had given me a shaving razor, which, upon first sight, I had thought was a new weapon. It took him several days to teach me how to use it. Even now, I feel it in my coat pocket. It had made it through a lot, the poor thing.

I love the picture, but there are things in it that dampen my mood further, if that is possible.

The Dean and Castiel in this picture are not exactly TOGETHER, but they are close. It makes me long for a Christmas where we can be together in every sense of the word.

And this Castiel, this version of me, holds life. He glows, and even devoid of motion, I, or Jimmy, is intoxicated in his bliss. My bliss. This Castiel is irrationally happy, with all disregard of the future. He is just a replication of what I used to be, what I want to be again. What I can't be anymore.

The picture holds a brisk scent of metal and cardboard, and strangely, like the lull of sleep. Even I can detect a faint bit of beer smell and maybe a bit of food. Pies and cheeseburgers, undoubtedly.

Because Dean Winchester had this framed, on his nightstand. As he entered a house of almost strangers, he chose to bring me with him, to keep me turned to face the bed, so we could wake up together.

I feel moisture on my face, streaming and blurring my vision as I sweep into the sky again, picture in hand. I need to see my friend, immediately.

Angels don't cry. Perhaps the sensation is rain, though the skies I fly in are all but devoid of clouds.

 

I find him easily. As an angel of the sea, it isn't hard. The only problem was finding which ocean he had moved to at the time.

He is sitting on a rock by a light house, halfway into the ocean and watching the waters with a calm expression while playing a flute. As soon as I neared him, the calmness crashed over me like a wave, soothing and warm and not exactly sweet, but welcome.

 

He stops his playing, which leaves the beach oddly empty. The music had been a part of it in that instance.

 

"Cassiel. Brother."

 

He turns his eyes to me, and I hear the song of sea birds and the scent of water. They are blue, like the angels of Thursday's, but he is an archangel of the sea, and they change the color with whatever sea he inhabits. They are not frightening. They are enchanting, like they belong in a fairy tale.

"Castiel. Have you any word of the mission?"

I shake my head, a bit of fear emerging within me. I haven't been aware they left already. I haven't even wished Metatron good fortune.

"Castiel. You have fallen in love with a human."

I jerk my head up, stunned, but at the same time, defensive. Cassiel could always look right through me, but this was rather blunt, even for him.

"I suppose I have. But I said goodbye."

Cassiel strolls out of the sea spray to sit on the sand next to me. With a graceful flick of his hand, the ocean is calm and quiet.

"Why would you do such a thing? Saying goodbye to someone who holds one's heart is a bad mistake."

I feel almost embarrassed, and a bit angry.

 

"I had no choice. That's the way angels have to live. We sacrifice all that ever brings any joy to us and then we start over. Until something, in all the years we exist, dares to take us on and eventually kill us."

Cassiel regards me, waiting for me to take a breath and calm myself. It is for the best that I get all the comfort I can from him before I return home to Heaven. He always speaks the wisest words.

 

"Our glimpse of life is fleeting, Castiel. Perhaps because we aren't even really alive. But upon our deaths, our eyes open wider than any others. We see so much more and realize what has been missing. We see the chinks in our armor, the wounds that are gouged there that we have been trained to ignore. We realize that we are worse than humans. But we understand, Castiel. It just takes us dying to do so."

I become frustrated, because for the first time, his words are wrong. Wrong for me.

"I have died more than once. I have had no realization beyond this. What is wrong with me? Why don't I understand?"

Cassiel sighs, standing up and letting his wings trace ghostly scars in the sand. He is becoming tired of this conversation. The ocean is a happy place for him that has been tainted with my heartache.

"The times you have died, you did so with your eyes still sealed shut. They might always be that way. If dying is not enough to make you understand, then loss is the only other option."

"But Cassiel," I protest, "I am sick of being blind. I don't even see the stars anymore."

With a tumultuous crash, a wave of foam slams against the beach, and lightning forks its way across the sky in the distance. Cassiel is losing patience.

"Then look to the sky, Castiel! Metatron has forgiven you. He has been generous. Why do you deny his gift? You are still welcome among the angels. The stars still outline everything above."

He regally sweeps away, a storm brewing in his eyes as he vanishes into the blue-green waters.

"But what I want is no longer up there," I whisper, suddenly alone.

The call to return to Heaven comes a few hours later, when I finally convince myself to get up and walk away from the beach and that Cassiel wasn't coming back. He doesn't have the answers this time.

I am no hurry to rush back, but I know I have to know if Metatron had saved Sam. I can't bear the thought of Dean hurting alone for any length of time. The sooner Sam was back, the better.

My first impression is a good one. The atmosphere is joyous and pleasurable. At least, as joyous as angel soldiers got to experience. They are smiling, nodding, and shaking hands with Michael and Metatron, who appear bored with the whole deal. Upon my arrival, his face breaks into a grin. He shoves the higher ranked soldiers aside to join me, to celebrate with me.

 

However disappointed he has been with me lately, he still loves me in a way most angels cannot comprehend. They don't understand our friendship, and they certainly don't understand the feelings I have for Dean Winchester.

"Castiel. The mission was a great success. So did you see to your goodbyes?"

The mood is ruined completely in a few words. My shoulders slump with the reality of what I have done, and the heart I used to deny having is thrumming with a sharp ache.

"Yes. I have."

 

For a solid year I spend my time defying my promise to the last true friend I have left. A good bit of the time, I am sitting on the roof of Dean and Sam's motels, listening to their conversations, perking up when my name is mentioned, but hurting as Dean shoots it down. There is no place for me anymore, and it is only fair.

There are some nights when Dean mumbles my name in his sleep, which comforts me enough to bring me back each night to be tortured by his denial. It is like a wound that has been soothed, only to be reopened. I have become a masochist, and I cannot bring myself to regret anything.

There are points in time where it is almost not enough, but there is one night in particular that strengthens all my resolve to keep looking after Dean, to watch over him.

The night brings the first snowfall I have witnessed since my return to Heaven. Dean and Sam are enjoying it, smiling and laughing and drinking to each other. They are blissfully happy until Sam says it.

"Why are you so sad all the time, Dean? Is it because of Lisa? I didn't mean to condemn you to be unhappy, you know. I just wanted you to be okay. I thought I was leaving you with everything you needed."

I hear Dean slam his drink on the table, defensive, angry at the weakness being exploited, but still so grateful for Sam that he gives him nothing but the truth.

"I tried, Sammy. For you. But it wasn't enough. Without you, I was just kind of lost. There were two things missing in my life after that day, and I couldn't seem to function without them. That's all I could think about."

Sam takes a drink, and I believe Dean Winchester has begun to cry.

I have heard enough, so I leave.

Since then, I have wondered if Dean has cared enough to remain a little empty. He has not taken sidesteps to fill my spot. There are no women he places there. He seems to wait in the same masochistic manner I do. Constantly on the same cycle, spinning round and round without any care of when we would stop.

We just waited, subconsciously, for each other to come around.

 

During a patrol of Heaven, Metatron calls me into his chamber. This makes me uneasy, for he rarely does this unless he wishes to discuss business. My initial thought is that he has discovered that I have been watching over Dean, which goes against the council's orders.

 

However, when I push the heavy doors open to peer into the wide space, I find a delightful surprise.

 

"Camael!"

The tall figure turns away from Metatron, who, for once, is sitting straight in his throne.

Camael's golden eyes search me before they crinkle with a fond smile.

"My Castiel. What troubles have you buried yourself in this time?"

She does not continue the lecture before she strides forward to embrace me in a hug, pressing me tight. Her hair smells of wildflowers.

Metatron clears his throat, a frown forming on his face.

"Camael wishes to discuss the Winchesters with you, Castiel. She takes a side that you stand near, I believe."

Camael flashes him a heated look before turning her warmth back to me. She is the closest thing to a mother I could ever have, and she is rightfully suited to fill such a position, being an angel that represents love itself.

"I sense the devotion. I feel it burning among the fires of my own sun. How the council could deny such a thing is beyond me."

He voice becomes icy. Metatron flinches with guilt. Angels do not usually engage in relationships, but we have all long believed he has had romantic feelings for Camael. Not that she would ever have him. She burned alone.

"Do you really think I should go against the council's wishes? Let an angel of the Lord soar down from Heaven to join a male while still in another male's vessel. That is blasphemy. It is wrong and twisted and…"

Camael's eyes darken until they are black fire, raging with contempt.

"Fine!" Metatron snaps, glaring at me. "I will talk to the council. They will laugh me out of their room, spit at my feet, but so Castiel can be happy, I will do this."

With a crack of lightning, he is gone, leaving a heavy feeling of what I can only call shame behind him.

"He is doing it for himself," Camael says disdainfully, but she turns to me with the same warmth.

"My angel, tell me of this soul that matches yours. What is he like?"

I think about this. What exactly was it that made me care so much for Dean Winchester, in a way Sam cared for Jessica, his lost love? What have I done that causes Dean to almost, maybe, feel the same?

What did I do right that led him to kiss me those precious few times, before I started saying goodbye after goodbye?

"I dove into the fires of Hell, my dear Camael, and the flames burned more feathers than I dare count. Everything I was became an inferno. I thought he might be hard to locate, among all those souls, the souls burning in a manner less extreme than I, working and slaving and crying."

I cut off, becoming ensnared in the memories, trying to find the words that match up with what my mind whispers in the more vulnerable hours of the night, when I listen to Dean's heart beating with a tempo that speaks of my name.

I find them as I think of us sleeping in the same bed, of me sleeping at all. I could wake up and not have to fight anymore.

"His burns bright. Brighter than the very fire of Hell. Not with hatred, but with a kindness he does his best to smother. In the moments where he has been kind to me, he burns very much like you, Camael. In a way that makes me never want to stray from his side."

Camael leans forward, resting her chin on my head. For some reason, this brings tears to my eyes. I hope no other angels enter to witness this.

"And you never have, Castiel. Not ever."

Her hair, longer than even Metatron's, enfolds me in a golden blanket, and I am grateful.

 

I wait a long while for permission to see Dean, but after Camael threatens to burn the council's thrones to the ground, they became willing to speed along the process. Particularly when she sets off a fire to prove she is more than willing to do so.

Cassiel is called to put it out, and afterwards he decides to hover around me. I think he is drawn to Camael a well, to her light and beauty. Cassiel has always been the odd one out of our large family. The black sheep, as some would call him. My being his friend did little to help my reputation at the moment, but I didn't care.

His black hair and blue eyes were similar enough to mine that some mistake him for my personal brother, another angel of Thursday.

 

He is relaxed around Camael, and the smile he bears is one few have seen. The expression remains until she is thrown into anger, having received an update on the council's decision, which is actually positive about Dean and I, but also adds that the decision will take a while to reach.

"How DARE those fools try to decree such a ridiculous notion?" she growls, pacing Metatron's room. Her hair is turning red at the tips.

"Those angels should have no rule. WE are the archangels, are we not?" she snaps, turning to Metatron. The ends of her hair burn now with fire.

"Yes! Of course," he agrees hastily, shrinking back into his chair.

She nods, spinning on her heels and facing me.

"And you let them tell you who you could be with, my dear Castiel? How could you do such a thing? Their heads are so filled with clouds that they forget themselves more and more each day."

She sighs, and the flames dissolve.

"Perhaps you should tell Dean that you are probably coming back, Castiel?" Metatron suggests almost pointedly, as if he wishes to talk to Camael alone.

I wish him luck. Metatron has never let her leave Heaven without a fight, which usually ends in his hair burned and his eyebrows all but gone. He has not given up yet, though.

"I'm waiting," I reply.

Camael halts in her pacing and tilts her head in confusion.

"For what, dear one? Have you both not suffered the absence long enough?"

Metatron huffs, but I know he is glad, deep down. The angels are the same as men on Earth. They deny their feelings, though it is harder for Metatron to pull off such a thing being the angel of connections.

Cassiel blinks, also curious. At that moment, I realized how rarely he did so. He watched the world wide eyed. He never got enough of the earth and the Heaven's after being lost in a dark sea for such long time spans.

 

"A prayer."

 

It comes when I am flying over an Egyptian pyramid, simply enjoying the sights. The deserts have always fascinated me. I often walk the sands wondering why Father chose to make this place barren. What made him decide to make it a part of his plan?

 

I saw the beauty in it, all the same. I tended to find the brightest lights in the darkest of places, after all.

 

I had carried Jimmy's soul to a patch of Heaven after Camael returned to the sun. The Earth recognized nasty solar flares that week, but they were not all that concerned. Camael's temper was nothing new. Heaven allowed me to keep his body. He no longer needed his beating heart, anyway.

 

I had known I would fall once Camael left. She would stay and fight if she didn't believe my chances of returning to Dean were very good.

 

The prayer is hardly a prayer, but it is a call. It gives me sense of time, sends the crooked world straight. I sense the grief in his words and hear the echoes that send me spinning into memories. Sam has met a girl. He has moved in with her and is waiting for Dean to come around.

Dean rarely hunts anymore.

 

I also realize it is September, and Christmas is not entirely all that far off.

The prayer is filled with a loneliness that only matches my own.

"Wish you were here, Cas. To make me laugh, to make some stupid joke that only you think is funny. I just really wish you would come back,"

I halt, turning to stare at my footprints. They stretch into the distance for many miles, a path back to the starting point where I can change directions.

"I am coming back," I whisper.

I should fly back immediately, throw myself at him shamelessly. But I cannot. I must do this the right way.

 

Like a child, I run back, laughing wildly, to the beginning. It is not until I find the beginning of my path that I lift my wings and send sand spraying into the sky after me. After my   
flight home.

 

He is dreaming, but that has not stopped me before. I dive in, shifting the setting to the same motel that he had spent several nights alone at. In the dream, in our reality, he is standing and stretching. His eyes are tired and sad, until they become alert and wary. He turns slowly, not entirely trusting himself. He never has.

"Thought you weren't going to show your face again? Humans aren't good enough to be graced with your presence, right?"

His tone is defensive, but his posture mirrors what mine had been in the desert. He leans forward a bit, lips pressed together longingly. As if he wants to take flight himself.

The sight is amusing, but his tone makes me feel ashamed. I should have made my goodbye kinder.

"You were always good enough, Dean," I say, eyes fixated on the floor.

He eyes me mistrustfully, and I cannot blame him. I wouldn't trust me either.

In fact, I don't.

He looks up and down at what he believes is still Jimmy's body, and I see his annoyance. He must think I still carry his soul next to mine.

"I carried his soul out. I was left with the body. Almost as if I had fallen, but not quite."

 

'Not yet,' I think to myself.

 

His face reddens with my words. Dean doesn't like the thought of someone being close enough to him that they can read him thoroughly. It means there is another person to lose, another to make him vulnerable. One more person capable of breaking him. Like Sam's death had. Like I had.

"So what do you want, Cas?" he asks gruffly. I don't take offense. I know this is a beginning, and we have both already welcomed it. For better or worse.

"Heaven has become almost dull, but I've watched over you for several months now and I have decided you need me rather badly. Before you drink yourself to death."

My tone comes off light, for I don't yet want to explain all the months of pain to him. I'm sure he felt them as well.

He curses, whether at me or at my light displeasure of the beer bottles that have almost become decorations, I do not know.

"Of course, I need you," I say, staring at my feet. It is an efficient way of becoming further embarrassed, I have noticed. Eye contact means that I will permit myself into hysterics and that will not be very professional.

There is a shift, and I feel Dean's usual iron resolve weakening.

"Heaven going to let you go?"

The statement is laughable. I want to say no, they wouldn't, more than likely. That it took Heaven's MOTHER to storm down from the sun and yell at all the angels and curse and rage before they even gave me a chance.

Then again, I want to say she would never leave me in a bad situation, and that yes, we had a chance.

Instead, I rush forward, and do what I have been wanting to for a long while now. I kiss him. He is in no state to get into the gesture. I just allow our lips to brush, and to let myself delve into our memories, how sweet they are. Brighter than all of Heaven.

I chuckle, sensing his hesitation under our mutual hunger.

As I pull away, I see the smile that threatens to break through his anger, and I know I have, somehow, won.

"Why now?" Dean demands, rather short of breath.

I think of me sitting outside Lisa's house, watching him torture himself trying to be happy. We wouldn't have to do that. Sam could watch his brother's joy spread more and more every day. I could make him happy, and finally, his life would start.

"Because I'm done waiting for you to start your life. I heard your prayer a moment ago. That was what I was waiting for."

The shock that registers on his face is amusing, to say the least. He is almost in denial.

"That's it?" he asked hoarsely. "That's all I had to do for you to come back? All these months?"

 

"Castiel!"

 

A new voice calls to me. Metatron. I look to the window and see storm clouds brewing in the distance, lightning illuminating the treetops. He is warning me that I must hurry home and that something has happened.

"I'll do my best to come back, Dean. I don't know how long it will take to convince my…superiors…to let me go. But I will do whatever it takes."

And then I am airborne, flying into the dark clouds.

Metatron calls me to announce that the council is no longer leaning towards Dean and I being together, and that they are not thrilled with the thought of losing an angel just so that he can live happily ever after with a human. Dean Winchester, no less. Starter of the apocalypse.

Camael has gone, so her threats do not seem as real. Dean and I are losing our case, right after I tell him that we have a chance.

I do my best to keep Dean unaware of this, leaving him gifts and even watching over him like I used to. He returns to a familiar devoted hunting lifestyle, thankfully, so it is easy to slip into his room and leave him whatever he needs.

One of the first gifts I give him is a red rose I had found while taking a stroll through one of Heaven's gardens. I doubt he knows that it comes from such a beautiful and magical place, but he accepts it with a smile, all the same.

Near the beginning of December, the motels he stays at become more and more cold, and in the night he shivers in an almost violent manner. He is too stubborn to go buy a blanket, because that would mean the cold won, and Dean Winchester doesn't simply lose.

I go to a local store and buy two of the thickest blankets I can find. Well, I more or less take them, but the store doesn't really need them. Dean does.

I lay them over him and sit down on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep for just a brief moment before I am off again. All the hard edges of his face relax in sleep, shifting him into the Dean Winchester I have known since I raised him from Hell. The one I love very much.

Dean takes to drinking water, as well as cleaning up the motels he stays at. Almost like he knows I'm watching him and he wants to make a good impression, just to let me know he is doing okay.

One time, when he leaves to buy more bottled water, I decide to mess with his him, eager to provoke another laugh. I zip to a store and take some water while he is just putting his car into drive. I fill the fridge with it and make a nice stack on the small table. Dean enjoys this very much when he returns, and I feel as if I have just won a major battle.

Camael hands me the official envelope on December 15th, with a flourish and a smug smile.

"Congratulations, Castiel. You may now be with Dean Winchester to your heart's content."

 

Her smile is brilliant. It lights the clouds beneath us, turning them rose-gold. Metatron, who lurks behind her, winks at me. He is pleased. Cassiel is there too, smiling lightly at me, though he is confused. He understands himself how nice it is to be around Camael, the sun itself, when he is so confined to the dark waters. I think maybe he can understand if I tell him Heaven was my ocean, and Dean has become a light, but I don't need to explain myself.

Not anymore.

Dean is on a park bench, watching the world go by with a tranquil smile. He has found a light as well.

The ways an angel can fall from Heaven are varied. They may have their grace ripped out. They may fall from the clouds themselves and turn into a human child, their lives starting over. Or it can happen gradually, as a new grace slips in to replace the angel's previous grace. I have been in free fall for over three years now, and I have just taken the final leap.

Falling is never exactly pleasant. It's surrendering something you have had for all of your existence. But for me, it was welcome.

As I fall towards Dean, I feel my feathers slipping away, dissolving into black smoke, one by one. I land exactly in Dean's arms and he crushes me to him. No more hiding beneath glass or slinking in the shadows.

I am right here, and no one can take this away from me.

 

"Who is Sam's girlfriend?" I ask as Dean tugs me through Wal-Mart.

"Haven't met her. I think it's serious though," he says, gnawing on his lips and inspecting an array of ornaments.

"Do we get a Christmas tree?" I ask, curious.

"We're staying with Sam, and we always decorate the tree together. First time we have done it double couple style, though."

Those words please me.

He gestures to the ornaments, a little frustrated.

"I don't really know what to pick. Which ones do you like?"

I scan the shelves, finally deciding on a set of black and white ones. They are unique and have interesting swirls and designs. Dean nods and places them in the cart, whistling as we progress down the aisle. It is surreal to be so close to him and not have to worry about being punished or yelled at.

I have this, forever.

What have I done to be so blessed?

"We need to get you more clothes, Cas, since you're here permanently," Dean calls over his shoulder. His voice is filled with smugness and happiness. Hearing it makes me smile.

"Of course. When is Sam expecting us?"

Dean checks his watch and frowns.

"Two hours. Hey, look! Christmas sweaters!"

He pushes the cart with a jog before leaping onto the bottom rail and gliding towards the clothes. Rolling my eyes, I chase after him before he ends up on the floor with a new injury.

He has blown off our time limit to get to Sam's house and is content joking around. I am too.

"Wear this one! And these jeans!"

He throws clothes into my arms, laughing to himself. I inspect the sweater and discover it to be hideous. Even with my limited knowledge of what is acceptable to the humans as far as clothes, I know this is awful.

The sweater is green with white snowflakes, and a puffy reindeer with a red button nose. The fabric is scratchy and wiry.

"Dean. This is terrible."

He ponders this before he pulls another from the rack, this one possibly worse. It is red and beige, with the same puffy style except featuring Christmas trees.

"I will not wear that, either."

Dean nods, tossing it into our cart.

"Nah. I will."

 

Sam opens the door enthusiastically and grabs Dean in a hug before he can even register our attire. Dean hugs him back, all but crushing him.

"It's so good to see you!" Sam cries, pulling back. He is about to continue to say more, but he catches sight of me.

"Cas? What are you doing here? And….what are you wearing?"

His lips twitch, threatening to give way to laughter. That is, until he sees Dean. Then, he cannot control it, and he begins to laugh himself into wild hysterics.

"What are you BOTH wearing?"

"Christmas sweaters, Sammy," Dean says cheerfully. He grabs my hand and pulls me past Sam and inside the doorway.

"You just have no Christmas spirit."

Sam continues to laugh as he follows us in. He only stops a little when a petite girl with light blond hair enters the living room, drying her hands on a dish towel. When she sees us, her light brown eyes flit away shyly.

"Hello," she says in a rather childish voice. "Welcome to our home. You can set your stuff down and relax. Sam can carry it upstairs to your room."

"What?" Sam asks, but he is still in good humor from our attire, so the word does not seem harsh.

"Please, Sam?" she asks, in the same sweet tone. He gives in immediately.

Dean and I take off our shoes and sit at the table while the girl finishes up dinner. She hums as she works.

These are not the same tough, outgoing girls that Sam has been with in the past. And I could see why he wanted to be with her. She held no reminders of his other life. Sam had faced enough bad things in the world, enough roughness and anger. He wanted to come home to a quiet, simple love. No one could deprive him of that.

As we sit down, San begins introductions.

"Mickey, this is Dean, my brother, and his friend, Castiel."

"Boyfriend," Dean corrects, winking at her.

She lets out a startled noise and her porcelain face flushes pink.

"Uh. My bad," Sam says, just as startled as Mickey.

Dean smirks and begins tearing into his food with vigor. He makes satisfied noises as he chews, smiling at me, Sam, and Mickey, who can't seem to believe the way things ended up.

"This is delicious, Mick," he says, his mouth full.

Sam looks at me, as if to say 'What the hell is going on?', but I really don't even know anymore. I stopped fighting the waters and just let the tide carry me wherever Dean went. I was sick of thinking, of worrying.

So I smile back at him and take a bite of my food.

"This is delicious," I repeat to Mickey, not even caring my mouth is full as well.

 

Christmas morning brings a thick blanket of snow. Dean says that we can go out and ride on the sled and build snowmen later, after we eat and open gifts. I had plans to ask Sam to carry me to the store to purchase Dean's gift, but he has already left to go buy Mickey's gift. Dean has gone with him.

 

Mickey, I have learned, is from the south, which apparently means couples such as Dean and I were frowned upon most of the time. She has no personal problem herself, but it is still unusual for her until Christmas Eve, when Dean and Sam have gone and she is cleaning up.

"You are in love?" she asks, simply.

 

I nod, and that is all she needs.

 

She offers to take me to buy Dean's gift. She explains that she bought Sam's weeks ago, that she likes being early. From everything I have learned about her in the past few days, this seems right.

So on Christmas morning, I am a little nervous.

We drink our hot chocolate, which out of all the things I have tasted as a human is by far the best, and we eat cookies, which are almost as good.

Sam and Mickey actually give each other multiple presents, consisting of clothes and books. The last two are the best.

 

Sam drops down on one knee and pulls out a diamond ring. I know enough of human customs to know that he is going to ask for her hand in marriage, though I was not aware events such as these took place in the living room, or had witnesses, for that matter.

As he does this, her face lights up more and more until he is finished with his declaration of love.

She squeals and cries an excited 'yes', which by far the loudest I have heard her speak within the short time I have known her.

As he fits the ring on her slender finger, she clears her throat self-consciously, looking at Dean and I and then back to Sam.

"I have another gift," she whispers.

Sam leans in, confused. This is not part of his plan.

"I'm pregnant."

Now Sam is delighted. Thrilled, really. He grabs her and spins her around, knocking over several pictures. He puts her down and grabs her hands, the corners of his mouth stretched into a foolish grin.

"How far along are you?"

She ponders this in a dazed happiness.

"Four months. I just wanted to be sure before I told you."

They embrace, and Dean I give them privacy while we open each other's gifts. I had next to no money, so Mickey had helped pay for Dean's gift. I vow to pay her back as soon as I am able.

 

When he pulls out the slim jewelry box, I know he is confused. It is not until he opens it and pulls out the necklace that he smiles. Its chain is golden, a bit flashy for someone as simple as Dean, but I wanted him to wear something that matched what I saw.

Hanging from it is an expertly crafted angel wing, set in gold. A reminder.

"I thought you might like another necklace. Since you lost the one Sam gave you," I explain quietly.

He pulls me forward and kisses me wordlessly, and I know I have done well.

 

Sam takes a silent cue and vanishes, only to reappear with a box, which Dean hands to me. I know immediately it is an animal of some sort. I have never been particularly good with them, but I am very excited.

As I pull the top open, a puppy leaps out, yipping and licking at my hands eagerly. Dean is quiet, waiting for my reaction. When I do nothing but cradle it, he begins to speak nervously.

"It's a Great Dane. Sam has already found a house for us not to far from here. We can work on buying it and maybe…"

I hold a hand up.

"Female?" I guess.

He nods.

"Can we name her Camael?"

Dean nods again, the hint of a smile forming on his face.

"You like her?" he asks.

"I love her," I reply, stroking her head. I hope Camael doesn't mind me taking her name. I just wanted her to know how much I appreciated her, how much I hoped that we would meet again. Dean kisses me again, delighted, and Camael, the puppy, tries her best to join in, to Mickey and Sam's amusement.

Dean already has a collar made with Sam's address, just until we got a place of our own and I had given her a name.

Mickey explains to me later that Great Danes are expensive dogs and eat great quantities of food. A small part of the morning is her telling me everything she knows, having had one as a child. I think Dean has made a good choice.

She also gestures to her ears and explains a process where they can be changed to stand up straight.

"I think she's beautiful like this, though," I say, and she agrees.

Because of the collar, I am unafraid to take her outside to play with us. Sam already exhibits an over protectiveness, now that he is aware of Mickey' pregnancy. He asks her not to over-exert herself and be careful, even when there is no danger of anything happening. Dean is amused to see this.

We have a contest to see who can build the bigger snowman, which Sam and Mickey win by a long shot. Unfamiliar with the whole thing, I end up collapsing ours while trying to get the middle body piece up, but Dean is not angry, only entertained.

We stay in the snow the entire day, behaving like children. We have not even taken off our pajamas. Dean tells me it is perfectly acceptable, but I am not so sure. I am not concerned about catching a sickness, even though it is now possible.

We all wear hooded jackets though, so we don't freeze. Mickey and Sam wear scarves that she has knitted.

She promises to teach me.

The sun emerges at one point, just before it is time for it to set, but this does not spoil our fun. Instead, it hangs over us, glinting and catching the light of Mickey's new ring, and sending dazzling rays against the necklace Dean wears.

I can almost feel Camael's embrace, her relief, her joy. She is delighted for me, and she is trying to prove it.

Feeling this draws my attention to our new dog, which I have quickly learned is quite mischievous. She pulls at our pajama pants and runs off with Sam's scarf at one point. No one can be mad, though. She is entirely too lovable. That she has in common with Camael of the Sun.

Sam and Mickey end up going inside to get blankets for us. We don't want to surrender our joy yet. We want to stay outside and be silly for a few more hours.

While they are gone, Dean and I collapse and clasp our hands together, watching the first stars emerge in the sky; Camael has said her goodbyes for the day, and has let the night take over.

"We can make snow angels?" he suggests.

I shake my head though, and he realizes his word choice. Before he can begin to apologize, however, I say, "I don't want to return to that time. I'm happy now. I have what I need."

I squeeze his hand to accent the thought.

He turns on his side to face me.

"Was it really that bad? Being away from me, I mean?"

His voice is torn. He doesn't want me to hurt, but he likes thinking that he means that much to me. Dean needs his reassurances, just like everyone else.

The angel wing resting near his heart captures my interest as I think this through.

"It was the worst agony I have ever endured."

Dean rests his chin on my arm, trying to convey sympathy and his own reassurance.

"I thought angels were basically invincible?" he asks.

I laugh at such a ludicrous thought. Angels WERE almost invincible. Until they fell.

"No, Dean. I have-well, had- several chinks in my armor."

I remember Cassiel saying something very similar the night I sought him, before Sam was saved.

"Almost anything could hurt me. But I'm not sorry I fell," I add, seeing his stricken expression.

"This is what I wanted. More than anything."

He frowns, still not reassured.

"Dean, I mean it. When it comes to you, I can still be strong. When it comes to you, I am entirely bulletproof."

And this is enough.


End file.
